A lazy cold day!

Thursday 21st January 2016.  - 17.6km

I was the only guest at the B&B last night and although my room was not en-suite I had the bathroom all to myself and took full advantage of a long hot soak in the tub! Once my skin resembled a prune it was time to get out and do my washing….this felt a bit like being back in Europe on a long walk.

I was asked if I wanted to join my host for dinner and naturally accepted given that there was nowhere else to dine that I was aware of. Dinner was a homemade vegetable hot pot with a sponge and homemade custard for pudding…..it was delicious.

Breakfast was a lazy affair and I took my time over it whilst having a good chinwag with my

landlady over nothing and something. I was packed and heading out of the door. The air was crisp and cold but so I chose to walk with a jacket on. This proved a wise decision as in no time at all I was toasty warm. My route took me along an old railway line and to the village of Coxhoe. It was strange to be back amongst the hustle and bustle of people and cars. I walked along the main street before heading across the A1/M motorway. I always snigger to myself as I gaze at the traffic whizzing by and the drivers probably dashing off to work.

With the motorway behind me, I crossed another old railway line before dropping down to the River Wear. I continued along the river bank, ascending and descending through woods and along a hillside before reaching a garden gursery. My tradition of having a coffee and a wee snack developed from travelling through Europe has not left me. I checked that there was a coffee shop at the nursery and as I walked into the cafe looking like a wet, smelly, dirty homeless person, I could feel noise briefly pause and eyes falling upon me before customers carried on with their business.

The nursery was declared as a 'hidden gem on the doorstep of Durham' and judging by my

snack I felt that they weren’t wrong.

As I stepped outside ready to set off again the temperature had dropped sufficiently for me to notice. I carried on along the river bank and made a detour due to a landslide. I navigated my way through Durham streets the Cathedral and the end of the day.

Full Steam Ahead!

Wednesday 20th January 2016 - 28.5km

After a good night's sleep I woke looking forward to my breakfast. Little did I know what was in store for me. The previous day whilst visiting the Olde Tea Shop also owned by my B&B landlady, I had entered into a conversation about my breakfast. Having being offered and declined a full english because I am a vegetarian I was offered a mushroom omelette. After me cereal of Luxury Muesli my omelette arrived and OMG what a sad sorry thing it was ! Basically a limp affair, unadorned by anything except fresh air, sitting on a stark white cold plate !!

Disappointment over, I was on my way early as I had a long day ahead. My route took me

straight through a cemetery to reach Middlesbrough’s famous Transporter Bridge and the riverside bank to the edge of Stockton-on-Tees. I joined the Castle Eden Walkway and as I walked into the Industrial Estate I was approached by a dodgy looking person carrying an overnight bag and what looked like and ivory temple in one hand. I lowered my head, but as we drew side by side he asked “know where I can get some smokes mate?”. Mmm,  I quickly uttered that Asda was across the road and carried on without stopping. My route took me past the front door of Middlesbrough prison and I surmised that my “got any smokes” asking person had been a resident of Her Majesties pleasure.

I continued through the urban areas of Stockton interspersed with sections of the old railway line that seemed to be the favourite dumping place of all manner of household detritus….aren’t some humans just animals ,with no pride in the place they live in or near.

Soon Stockton was behind me and my route just went straight on and on and on. It can be tedious walking on old railway lines but this was a living breathing one. My first point of interest was the old railway station that had been converted to a tea room. With a full tummy of  freshly baked cheese scones and hot chocolate I set off once more on and on and on with no left or right turns. Occasionally I was startled as a bicycle whizzed past or a bike bell rang as it crept up on me. Every now and then a dog walker stopped for a chat which helped break the monotony of a path that just went forwards.

To the west of Darlington I finally broke cover and turned left. I had almost forgotten what

that felt like, it was slightly thrilling. As I passed through some woods something in my peripheral vision made me look to the left. Rummaging around the base of some trees was a man…..I thought he was looking for mushrooms but he informed me he was Geocaching. 

The final stage of the day took me across several fields.  It was a slow slog as every step meant an extra layer of mud being added to each boot. It was hard work.

As I entered Trimdon the day was getting late and cold and I was pretty pooped, but I pressed on to my B&B, arriving just as the light was changing.

TWOC’d ( Taken without consent ) !

Tuesday 19th January 2016 - 19.3km


Today was always going to be a short day so I took the advantage of a slow, lazy start and a leisurely breakfast. Once in the breakfast room of my accommodation I didn’t think I was going to get a cooked breakfast as the staff were in a heated discussion about the duties of the day. It was a strange experience to being ignored, but eventually my order was taken and then my feast arrived. My mind or head must have been in the clouds because it was about 30 minutes into my walk when I realised I had left my walking pole in my room. I never like to go back on my walk so I decided to press on instead.

The route was easy going initially, but soon I was heading into the clouds or was it heaven? The path slowly ascended and continued up and up. For some reason my bag felt quiet heavy today and it was not made easy by my constant slipping and sliding along the muddy, snowy path.

I made a slight detour in a forest, well I missed the path left so I had to retrace my steps to go the right way. In the cloudy weather I donned my waterproof jacket as by now I was sweating buckets. I now knew what it felt like to be an oven basted turkey and it wasn’t pleasant !

The path through the forest was waterlogged and very boggy so I took advantage of following others who had made detours around the obstacles. Eventually I left the forest and reached a wide open space with Middlesbrough unfolding ahead of me down in the valley below. My route continued downhill and by now I was wishing I had gone back for the walking pole. I gingerly made my way downhill, once more with clenched buttocks, and was relieved to arrive at the bottom unscathed…….unclench buttocks and breathe I thought to myself!

Soon I was following an old disused railway line into the heart of Normanby which took me through its urban streets and into the industrial parts of Middlesbrough. It was rough and it was dodgy. My head was down and I was walking without making eye contact with anyone. Why do some people not take pride in where they live, why do they dump rubbish and unwanted household items in streets and fields?

I decided to take the route past Middlesbrough football stadium and walk directly to the edge of the town centre where this stage ended. I have previously worked in Middlesbrough and knew that as the locals used to say, I was on the wrong side of the railway line. The side I was walking on used to be known as the Red Light district. With that in mind and knowing the reputation some of the local population, I was hoping that with all the electronic equipment I was carrying, I was not going to get TWOC’d! 

Snow Balls!

Monday 18th January 2016 - 28 kilometres

Breakfast was not until 8am despite me being the only guest at this accommodation. The shooting party who were also staying at the pub would no doubt have brekkie later after bagging a few birds, Phaw Phaw! 

With a full stomach and some trepidation I set off into the cold morning air, hopefully I was not going to die today ! I had decided to take the advice of the landlady, and not wishing to repeat part of the previous day's walk, I followed a minor road to the head of the Farndale valley. The going was quiet tough, there had been a fresh sprinkling of snow, so once again I was doing a good impersonation of Torvill and Dean but with no Bolero playing in the background. Eventually, and with a certain pride, I reached the end of the road. I had two choices now, either right across virgin snow or straight ahead on the permissive track.

Right would take me across virgin snow, how deep was it ? Across a stream, how steep were the sides, how deep would it be if I fell in and would I reach the track in the distance that I could see before I died ?

Straight ahead, my options were deep snow but motorbikes had used this so I could follow them. The ground looked very boggy, would I sink with the weight on my back? And would I die that way too ?

With almost certain death either way, I chose to follow the permissive path over an exceptional boggy, smelly, deep squelchy and snowy field, and across a stream using very slippery stones………….I survived!!

With jubilation I turned left over the stream and onto the track that I would follow to get me to the moors track of Rudland Rigg. I was quite happy now - walking and slipping backwards, sidewards and forwards along the virgin snow and then I crossed over a wooden bridge. ‘Wee man’ was keen to see the sights and took the opportunity of a snowy photo shoot on the bridge. Once completed we were on our way………….and then the fun started !

I knew where I wanted to go in the field, I knew how to get there, but there was no sign of any path or footsteps or motorbike tyre tracks, or anything. Just marshy weedy ears poking out of the clean snow, beckoning me to walk across, ready to suck me under the snow in the quagmirey, soupy, smelly water.

Like Rudolph Nureyev I balletted across the tufts of marsh grass to avoid being sucked under and before long I reached the first gate, slightly out of breath but unscarred.

I looked into the next field and surveyed what was in store…..more of the same, up hill, steep, very steep and a gate. Could I get across this one unscathed………….No chance! I set off with renewed confidence, taking it slow and steadily. The snow got deeper, and more slippery. Soon I was on my knees, body still moving forward with inertia ( I didn’t know she was with me! ) I picked myself up, I progressed a few steps, I fell……she was back again, inertia kept me going forwards until I was on my hands and knees. Well this style of walking, nose diving, and lot’s of inertia carried on, until out of breath, I arrived at the gate. I celebrated with a whoopee and several mouthfuls of cold water.

Once I had caught my breath. I checked my position and decided that with no sight of a path or track that the best course of action was to get a fixed position / direction and walk. …….How wrong I was. Within minutes of setting off I put my right foot down and it just kept going, and going and going, only to stop in a very deep smelly boggy hole. I was up to my meat and two veg in snow, it was cold, it was wet and I was very stuck. I tried to move but I could not get enough momentum to get out. I pulled on my foot as hard as I could and suddenly I was free and almost on my back. It reminded me of the farmer and the giant turnip, except there were no turnips here and there were no animals helping me out.

Once upright, on two feet and on firm ground I decided on a new strategy. Rudolph Nureyev had not let me down earlier, so with that in mind I resumed my forward motion. It went like this. Walking pole…poke in the snow a few times to see how deep the snow was, poke a clump of heather close by to see how deep that was. Move forward to said heather. Walking pole…poke in the snow a few time to see how deep the snow was, poke a clump of heather close by to see how deep that was. Move forward to said heather. Walking pole…poke in the snow a few time to see how deep the snow was, poke a clump of heather close by to see how deep that was. Move forward to said heather. Occasionally I got it wrong and yes I was up to the meat and two veg again and again and again. 

Subconsciously I was very proud of myself, because at no time did I ever shout out………I’M GOING TO DIE or HELPPPPPPP! I managed to stay calm throughout the whole process. Maybe my brain was just frozen!

Finally I found a grouse butt almost buried in the snow and that told me I was close to the track. I went in search and sure enough the track or the sign of a track appeared. I waded my way along using the pole poking method and soon I was at the Rudland Rigg. I turned right knowing that civilisation was now not too far away. I just had to put my head down and march because getting to this point had taken an age and I still had 20km ahead of me.

The weather on top of the moors was bleak, no view, just mist. I put my head down and walked until I reached a point where the path forked. I turned right to keep on the Cleveland Way and by now, with a clear view ahead of me, I could see that I was once more in trouble.

The section of path had only been walked on once, probably by a women, with size 1 boots and going in the opposite direction, so I could not walk in those footsteps. Also the snow was furled in waves of deep, very high cliffs of snow. This time it was two steps forward, step with the foot to the highest point…………think about inertia very very hard……..and with great effort move other foot up…..and squeeze buttocks! Would the snow hold my weight, would I sink………….no it held, and so on and so on. But every now and then, after releasing clenched buttocks, thinking the snow was ok…..I sank. There really was no pattern to it, but I am sure it would have looked hilarious had it been filmed……It might have even won an Oscar.

By now my energy levels were fairly sapped but I only had two miles to get to Kildale and it was downhill. How hard could that be? Well the answer was very. I was by now walking on a tarmaced track which was very slippery in places. I shimmied from left to right across the road looking for safe passage, occasionally onto the grass verge or gulley, finally to the main road and a flat surface. 

In Kildale my route took me past Glebe tea rooms and by now I was so knackered and I couldn’t have cared how late I

would arrive at my hotel, I was going to rest. Toasted fruit loaf and a hot chocolate minus marshmallows and cream later, I was ready to go for it. My route continued uphill…..aggghhh. But once at the top I crossed over to the Captain Cook’s monument, basically a concrete / brick pointy needle up to the sky. There was a decent view however, but no time to dilly dally, time was pressing. From the monument it was downhill and again I adopted a new technique. I have learnt alot in these two days of walking. My gait this time had significantly increased in speed, due to that women…..inertia, a slight air of cockiness and a definitive shimmy from side to side to reach solid snow….a bit like a downhill skier but without skies.

Soon I was at the carpark…..I was nearly there, I could feel it in the air. I turned right, there was the sign, two miles….whoppee. I nearly danced but there were people in the carpark. I turned left. STEPS, lots of them, STEPS going UPHILL, who put those there? It was so unfair, I felt a Kevin moment coming on, but I kept myself in check, I am a professional walker. With one step forward at a time, and with some inertia I climbed the Everest of steps to reach the almost flattish moor.

The sheep looked at me in pity, they new and could see I was tired. I could see them willing me onwards. Roseberry Topping came into view and I knew then that I had made it…..I had survived one of the hardest days walk I have had for some time and I hadn’t died !

The birth of a new walk

St Aelred’s Way, Helmsley to Melrose Abbey, Scotland

Sunday 17th January 2016 - 27.5 kilometres

There is nothing like the winter weather to start new walks, and with that in mind today, and with snow on the ground, I set off to re-create a walk from North Yorkshire to Scotland. In the 12th Century the abbot of Rievaulx Abbey was Aelred.  During his term of office he was dedicated to travelling between the daughter abbeys of the Rievaulx Abbey family. Melrose Abbey in Melrose, Scotland was one of the daughter houses of Rievaulx and was the first Cistercian Abbey in Scotland. Aelred would have visited Melrose Abbey frequently, and with this in mind this new walk, which is likely to take 12 days, will be called St Aelred's Way.

Accommodation was expensive in Helmsley so after negotiating with the lady who wears the trousers in our relationship, she offered to drop me off for an 8am start there rather than overnight it locally. We woke up at home at 5am for me to finish packing last minute things. There had not been much more snow overnight and after checking the weather cameras at Sutton Bank, the powers of modern technology, we took that shorter route.

7.30am saw us parking the car in Helmsley square and a after a quick visit to get supplies for the next day's walk ( I had a packed lunch already for today's walk ), I was on my way by 8am. After saying goodbye, I crossed the road and just before I turned out of sight I was called back…………not that Rachel was missing me or that she was after a final goodbye kiss, no -  I had left my food supplies on the back seat of the car. With the food then packed away I set off again but didn't get across the road before I had to return back to the car again - I had forgotten my notebooks and pen.   

Finally, I set off and Helmsley was soon behind me in the morning sunlight. I had elected to take a more direct route to the North Yorkshire Moors. Rather than following the Tabular Way my journey took me across crisp snowy fields to the village of Pockley. This hamlet is adorned with thatched cottages and is a sleepy oasis.

From Pockley with this more direct route in mind, I followed the various lanes to meander North towards Wether Cote farm, and then once more across country. In places the snow was quiet deep so the need for caution reduced the speed of my progress. I descended a steep hillside into Sleightholme Dale, past Sleightholme farm which looked like it had stood there for an eternity -  sadly the stable block was no longer used and was left to decay. After crossing a wooden bridge over a very full and fast flowing stream I was soon once more on Tarmac.

After a final short stretch on a lane I turned right to join a Bridleway, once more I looked back and around me to marvel at the rolling hills dusted with snow like icing sugar on a cake ( oooo ). It really was a beautiful day ( aaaah ). The Bridleway took me East to meet up with the road that would join the Rutland Rigg and my path across the moors. Once on the moors and with snow all around me, my pace was painfully slow. I was staying in a bed and breakfast in Church Houses that night and I had a deadline of 3pm to arrive or wait a further three hours until it opened again. This deadline meant that I could not dilly dally and rather than waste time having a well deserved lunch rest, I chose to eat on the hoof.

The path across the moors, although not suitable for vehicles, was peppered with car tracks that enabled me to move uncaring about what was under my feet or how the deep the snow was. By now I was probably the only person in that hostile environment and I did feel rather vulnerable. It was after lunchtime and the weather was starting to change, it was getting colder and the wind was building up. I added more layers to keep the chill out and the warmth in and by the time I got to the point where I would head east I was quite toasty warm. 

The path down to Church Houses had not been used since snowfall so I ended up walking rather delicately over very deep drifts of snow, hoping that I would not sink up to my knees or even deeper. This is not the first time I have walked in virgin snow and the not knowing what is below your feet is always a real worry. A broken leg, so easily done is the last thing I wanted. Thankfully I descended the moors unscathed and without any dramas. All the time my thoughts were of 'I have to walk back up this in the morning and it will be hard going and very tough'. By 2.15pm I was walking into my bed and breakfast and a very welcome sit down, a warm log fire burning away, a beer and rest at last.

A taxi to the start of the walk

Distance from Viverone 14.7km Distance from Dijon 481km    

Thursday 6/8/15

We had asked for breakfast early to try and complete much of the walk before the midday heat of the sun. Breakfast was laid out for us both and once again we were treated to to a sumptuous feast of delights. A welcome change from the meagre croissant, jam and coffee we were used to in France.

Our host had very kindly offered to drive us to the village we had finished at the previous day and we both accepted without a second thought. Soon we were at the start and we jumped out of the car and said our goodbyes and went in search of water for the day. Outside the Tabac with a handful of small bottles between us we decanted them into our containers and set off. After only a few metres I happened to notice I had something missing, my hat, my sunglasses, my guide book and my notes. Rachel was not happy at my forgetfulness and so we returned to the Tabac to call our previous nights host. Eventually after trying quite a few times I finally got to speak to her for her say she was waiting in the square she had dropped us off. Wasting no time I ran to retrieve my things, apologising also to her for my stupidity and I would sometimes forget my head if it was not screwed on tight.

As I left her I noticed four people with rucksacks and eating pastries and drinking coffee. I asked if they were walking the Francigena and they all nodded excitedly and laughed when I said I was too and would see them in Santhia later in the day. I returned to Rachel with the news.

As we headed out of the village the first thing we came across was a bed and breakfast with a swimming pool.......Well if it was meant to be it was meant to be. We both just thought about being in that pool the previous night!

The route continued to be the one that Pilgrims took in the 12th and 13th century and may of the villages have remnants from that time, usually in the form of the towers in them. Two kilometres outside Piverone is the 9th century church of Gesiun and despite there being no roof and open to the elements one small painted section still exists.

Passing through vineyards soon there were views of lake Viverone to our right a vast expanse of water that we walked by for the first half of the morning. We both took the opportunity for a comfort break in the first village we came to, and for me to top up my caffeine levels with a strong hit of coffee. As one village rolled into another we soon passed the four Italians I had met earlier in the morning. Rachel and I both commented and queried how they had got in front of us since they had not passed us, had they got a bus or a taxi? We continued on.......

Last year when we travelled together, me walking and Rachel either pushing or riding her bike, neither of us had any problems with the distance or the heat. For Rachel this time it was to be different. From the first day she had started walking with me this time she had a developed a heat rash on her legs and today it was getting worse and more intense. By lunch time we were both ready for a cool drink and Rachel needed to resolve the issue with her legs so we took a pit stop in a cafe. Rachel immediately disappeared to the bathroom and came back with cool wet paper towels over the backs of both legs.....quite a sight but a lot happier!

With a more permanent solution now required to keep the sun off the backs of her legs Rachel went in search of a Farmacie. Once located a large roll of tape was purchased and soon the cool damp paper towels were a permanent fixture and fashion accessory to her legs.

The kilometres were slowly eaten away and by mid afternoon and the hottest part of the day behind us we were strolling into Santhia and our home for the night. We had secured Pilgrim accommodation here the day before and we're glad we had as it turned out that of the six beds available there were seven staying with one person sleeping on a camp bed on the floor of the office. The Ostellier was centrally located on the edge of the town square and while I quaffed my beer Rachel went to lay claim to our bunk beds for the night. 

Once the beds had been claimed we both sat in the square enjoying the peace and quite, the late afternoon sun drinking our drinks. After we'd been sat there for a while the four Italians came round the corner and once more we all exchanged pleasantries as they too sat down for drinks. It transpired that these four Pilgrims were not booked into our accommodation so that meant there were now to be eleven in town for the night.  I had never seen so many in one place since I had set off from Canterbury!

We bid our farewells to our new friends and went to get showered and cleaned up. Now I am a big believer in fate and the notion that sometimes we are in particular time and place for a reason, today was one of those reasons. We had been in the Ostellier for about an hour and two more Pilgrims arrived, one staying outside on the phone. I never took any notice and just happened to glance out of the window as one passed by.  Mmmm I thought, I am sure I recognise that person but ignored it not being able to place a name or location to the person. I carried on and went to the bunk room to do some faffing. The second person walked into the the room and I looked up, Tony she uttered and gave me a hug! It turned out that these two people were some Italians we had walked with last year on the Francigena. Isaac came into the room having finished his phone call and was just cool at the whole notion of bumping into each other again.

The accommodation was not a huge space, just one room with three pair of bunk beds and some floor space. An office as an overflow for the odd camp bed and one room with a toilet and shower and that was it.  The princely price for the this sumptuous luxury, ten Euros. Now I am not speaking out of turn or turning my nose at the facilities and was more than happy at what was being offered and the price. I just wish such accommodation was more frequent along the route of the Francigena.

Rachel's first day walking....proper!

Distance from Pont-Saint-Martin 21.8km Distance from Dijon.

Wednesday 5/8/15

After a good breakfast and with full tummies we were soon on our way. Our route out of Pont Saint Martin took us over the impressive Roman Bridge to then skirt the back of the house along the vineyard terraces and out of the town. This was Rachel's full experience walking through the Italian countryside and soon she was taking every opportunity to stop and take photographs to preserve the memories.

It was not to be too much of a long day but at over 20 kilometresl it would test Rachel's stamina. She had been practising on similar terrain at home, with her rucksack full of the tinned produce from our kitchen cupboard she had jauntily bounced around the hillside in the Dales.

Whilst the weight was of a similar nature the terrain was a different kettle of fish. The path meandered along grapevine terraces, through sleepy villages, all the time climbing and descending the hillside at all too frequent intervals. Very much like step training at the gym, but outside and in the sun!

As we took a brief respite from the hills and walked alongside a busy stretch of roadway two additional Pilgrims briefly caught up with us. We exchanged pleasant  waves to acknowledge each other but we never got the opportunity for a chat. By lunchtime we were both ready to put our feet up and have something to eat. On the outskirts of Montestrutto we spied a picnic bench in a playground and made a beeline to it. With packs off our backs I gazed around and by chance happen to see a cafe in the distance, we were sat outside it within seconds. With two ice cold cans of Fanta unopened we took advantage of rolling the can around our necks, face, arms, legs to cool down. What a sight we must have looked. We shared an apple strudel cake and then took advantage of a flat surface to make our sandwiches which we would later eat on the hoof. Reluctantly it was time to leave, we were about half way through the day and not too much more climbing left before the end of the day.

Now I have mentioned Rachel's keenness to get some training in before walking with me in Italy, what she could not train for was the heat. It certainly took its toll on her until she developed an ingenious way to cool down. In every village there is, somewhere a tap or a Lavoire (wash house) dispensing cool drinkable water. Upon coming across one such fountain of coolness Rachel promptly took her hat off and put her head straight under the tap. Once cooled down she then proceeded to fill her hat with water and then put it on her head. This technique she practised regularly and with absolute gay abandonment at every opportunity that arose.

All too soon we were skirting the commercial district of Ivrea before descending into the town. Tonight we were staying at the Canoe club a Pilgrim hostel that offered all the facilities we needed, bed, shower and kitchen. What we did not bargain for was the mosquitoes! 

The accommodation proved just what we wanted and all for the princely sum of twelve Euros per person. We had experienced the lack of food outlets in France so we were carrying some dried supplies with us for tea and breakfast so with the exception of a Chouffe beer for me, some water and eggs for sandwiches the next day, it proved to me an inexpensive overnight stay.